My Mother and the Newspaper Fiasco

My brother sometimes brings me the Sunday paper, hanging it on my doorknob as I rarely answer the door and he never knocks. I enjoyed reading it, mostly I think because I once worked at a newspaper back in the 80’s.

So I decide to get a subscription to the paper and get it delivered to my house. Just the Sunday one, the bigĀ  issue, with color comics and coupons. I would be virtuous and do all my shopping with coupons – thereby becoming a Better Person.

The very first Sunday I am to get the paper, I get two. I call the paper on Monday, the lady who talks to me is vague about what has happened but assures me I will only be charged for the one subscription. And yes, it happened the next Sunday and they charged me for both papers.

I called to talk to someone about how to fix all this – and spent an hour on phone, dialingĀ  and waiting and forging through voicemazes – and got to talk to no one. Not a single person. This is, in the grand scheme of things, a pathetically minor matter, but oh, did it matter to me! I used their online form to cancel and have spent the next few weeks arguing with them to get my refunds.

I am supposedly to get another five dollars at some point.

During all this I decide I need to lay siege to the newspaper offices. I envision trebuchets and screaming hordes of Norsemen, it soothes something inside me. I called my mother to tell her about my disaffection with the newspaper people and how I must now go and set fire to the company headquarters.

She says “Okay I’ll go get a knife from the kitchen, come get me!”

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